


anything for you

by kinneyb



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Character Death Fix, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2020-10-10 22:54:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20535965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Quentin is revived, but there's a catch: he no longer has his Shade.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually kind of proud of this. Hehe. Please stay tuned for future chapters.
> 
> Also please check out my Twitter but more importantly my pinned Tweet - my @ is queermight

Quentin walked through the archway and into a small, dark office with plain walls. He blinked. This was definitely _his_ personal definition of Hell, at least.

The smell was even bland, but he also wasn't so sure if he could actually smell as a dead person. Maybe everything would smell bland for the rest of eternity.

"Hello, Quentin."

He startled, stumbling forward a few steps.

Turning on his heels, he stared at the newcomer. A handsome young man with dark skin and a tailored suit.

Quentin couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something... off about him.

He shivered and stepped back.

"Rude," the man quipped, looking vaguely amused if anything. He slowly took a step forward and Quentin narrowed his eyes.

"Who are you?" he asked, raising his hands in a defensive stance--battle magic.

The man tilted his head curiously. "You don't actually think you'd be able to cast in here, do you?" he asked, pressing his lips together.

Quentin sniffed loudly. "No," he mumbled, dropping his hands.

"Right, well," the man circled him like a bird circling prey. "Quentin Coldwater," he hummed thoughtfully. "Quite plain, really."

Quentin ran his tongue over his teeth. Even in the underworld he was being degraded. Great.

"Who are you?" he repeated with a tired sigh.

The man paused and smiled brightly, clasping his hands together behind his back. "I have many names," he answered, "but you may refer to me as Hades."

Quentin blinked a few times. "Oh," he breathed, laughter suddenly bubbling up his throat. "Of course," he said, throwing his arms up in the air. "Of course things can be easy even after death. Literal death."

Hades raised both eyebrows. "You have been through a lot," he said. It wasn't really a question.

Quentin dropped his arms. "Yeah," he replied gruffly. "You could say that."

"Well, you should be thrilled," he said, "I am here to give you an irresistible offer."

Quentin stared at him. He didn't say a word.

"How would you feel about going back," Hades lifted a hand, pointing a finger upward, "up there with your loving friends? Who you missing you very much, might I add."

Quentin stiffened. "Don't," he said, looking away. "Don't," he repeated, quieter. "I don't want to do this anymore."

Hades stepped closer and raised an eyebrow. "Do what?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"This," he snapped, looking back at him. "Any of this."

Hades nodded slowly. "You don't want to go back to them?"

Quentin's nose twitched in anger. "I did not say that," he mumbled, hands curling into fists at his sides. "That's not what I meant."

"But, for them, there is no difference," he explained breezily, circling Quentin again with hard, judging eyes. "You're _here_, and they're up _there_. Separated for who knows how long."

Quentin closed his eyes, unable to watch him. "They understand," he argued weakly.

"Do they?" he shot back quickly. "Julia, Eliot, Alice," he listed their names off slowly, pausing between each. "They will never truly be over this. This will follow them for the rest of their lives," he lowered his voice. "They will always feel... incomplete. You were a part of them, Quentin."

Quentin felt a stinging behind his eyes. So, you _could_ cry after death. Ironic and cruel, if you asked Quentin.

"I don't--" he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. "What is it?"

Hades stopped in front of him. "Hmm?"

"Th - the offer," he said, gesturing wildly with one hand. "What is it?"

Hades grinned, resembling a shark. Quentin felt cold all over.

"You can go back," he answered, pointing at the ceiling again, "but your Shade stays with me."

Quentin blinked. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, really, but it certainly hadn't been anything like that. What was the point of going back--living--if he couldn't take his Shade with him? If he couldn't feel things? "No," he said firmly.

"Come now," Hades said, laughing lightly.

Quentin shook his head. "I won't do it," he said, jutting his chin in the air. "No."

"But it would make your friends so happy," he continued, frowning sadly. "Don't you care about them?"

Quentin narrowed his eyes. "They wouldn't be happy once they found out what it cost me," he replied, truthfully. "No way. I'm not doing it." But then he couldn't help asking. "And what do you mean--with _you_?"

That wasn't right. Shades were meant to be in Elysium.

"Ah," Hades clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Hoped you wouldn't pick up on that."

Quentin glared at him. "So there's even more of a catch?" he asked in disbelief. "Fuck."

Hades waved him off. "Your Shade would stay here with me," he repeated. "Forever. Tiny little things can perform miracles and the such. He'd be a good helper."

"Wait..."

Hades smiled, evilly. "Which means you can never pass over," he continued with a nod. "For the dead to properly move on, they must have their Shade with them. You would be stuck in limbo. Forever."

Quentin took in a sharp breath. "No," he said. "No, no. _No_ way."

"If that's what you want," Hades shrugged primly, walking over to his desk. He hummed thoughtfully. "But you must know Julia, Alice, Eliot--all their Shades have been dealt a terrible blow by your death. That pain will also stay with them, forever."

Quentin glared at his feet. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" he asked, turning around. "I'm helping you, Quentin."

He laughed sharply. "You're really not," he muttered. "I just--I wanted this to be... _easy_."

"The choice is yours," he said with another shrug. "I'm not forcing you."

Quentin turned on his heels. "I can't--I can't say no," he blurted, feeling hot. He knew this feeling--he was on the verge of the tears. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I want to see them again so, so bad and you know that. You're--this isn't _fair_."

"Your choice," he repeated.

Quentin looked up and stared at the ceiling. He couldn't say no, but he couldn't possibly say yes. They'd be so angry with him. But... there was another option: he could just not tell them. They didn't need to know. "Okay," he said, barely a whisper.

Hades raised an eyebrow, watching him closely. "Okay what?"

"I'll--I wanna go back," he replied quietly. "I want to see my friends again."

Hades nodded and pushed off from the desk, walking over. "Good answer," he said, placing a hand on each of Quentin's shoulders. He squeezed and smiled tightly. "This might hurt a little, Quentin."

He nodded sharply. "Okay."

"Perfect," he breathed, and pressed down on his shoulders, harder and harder.

Quentin heard something--bones cracking, he realized with horror, before everything went dark.

*

Eliot stared up at the ceiling. He'd woken up a few hours ago, but he hadn't moved or called for Margo yet. He was tired of needing her for everything--something he never thought could happen. He loved Margo so much, and right now she was his rock; the only thing keeping him from giving up.

Sighing, he turned his head and glanced at the clock. It was seven in the morning. Ironically, he didn't sleep much anymore despite all the healers and doctors telling him he needed sleep. Rest.

He slowly sat up, struggling, and leaned against the headboard. The pain in his stomach was easing more and more each day.

Glancing down, he pressed a hand over the bandage covering his stomach and hissed at the pain.

Pain was good. Pain reminded him he was alive and breathing.

_Like Quentin deserved to be_, the worst part of his brain supplied unhelpfully, meanly.

_But he died all because of you. It's your fault._

Eliot licked his (ridiculously dry) lips and swung his legs off the side of the bed, pressing his feet to the ground. Leaning over, he grabbed his cane and stood up slowly. He still struggled with walking.

He was halfway to the bathroom when he heard it: a knock at the door.

They were still staying at Kady's apartment. No one really knew if it belonged to her or not, but Marina had essentially forfeited it by never showing up again.

"Mar--" he cut himself off, pressing his lips together. He could do this. He could fend for himself--at least a little. He wasn't incompetent. Or a child, no matter how much he felt like one nowadays. Like a child who didn't know how to cope with the loss of a loved one, who couldn't really accept they were gone.

Shaking his head, clearing his mind, he limped over to the door and leaned on his cane as he opened it.

"Eliot."

Eliot really was a child, because standing there in front of him was Quentin. He was obviously dreaming or imagining things, like a child would. He cleared his throat, felt the familiar burn of tears. "Fuck," he breathed, "I am so fucking _fucked_."

Quentin--or the thing--stepped forward, lifting his hands in the air. Hands that had touched Eliot all over.

"Fuck," he repeated, lamely.

Quentin looked... different, though. He looked smaller, older, dark bags under his eyes, a few new wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. Eliot realized, suddenly and angrily, this was the Quentin he'd seen in the park that day. This was the Quentin he was so hoping to see again.

"Fuck off," he breathed, and now the tears were falling from his eyes, down his cheeks. "Fuck _everything_."

Quentin stepped even closer. "El, why--" he searched his face frantically. "I'm here. I'm sorry. I'm--"

"Eliot?" Margo's voice carried from across the room, a bit sharp. He turned and looked at her, still holding the door open. She was probably finally realizing he was out of his fucking mind and he couldn't blame her. Not anymore. She stepped closer and peered over his shoulder.

Eliot tensed, hard as a rock.

"Quentin?" Margo breathed, barely a whisper.

Eliot whipped back around. "Bambi," he said. "Bambi, you can see him?"

"Guys, I'm right here," Quentin interjected sheepishly.

Margo rushed forward and barely stopped herself before she collided with the still very much injured Eliot, looking at Quentin with wide, wet eyes. "What the actual fuck?" she asked before she lunged forward and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Quentin, is that really you?"

Eliot took a deep breath. "No, no way," he said, letting go of the door so he could wipe at his eyes. "Q?"

"It's me," he said. "It's a long story, but it's me."

Eliot felt like the air had been punched out of him. "Q," he repeated softly.

Margo pulled back and moved out of the way, not easily. She was still watching Quentin like a hawk, like she was afraid if she blinked he'd disappear again. Quentin stepped forward and reached out slowly, tentatively, pressing a hand to Eliot's arm.

"El, it's me," he whispered, squeezing his arm lightly.

Eliot swallowed around the lump in his throat. "What the fuck, you asshole," he said, surprisingly Margo-like. "I--we all thought--you're not _dead_," he finished lamely before he dropped his cane and wrapped his arms around Quentin, who hugged him back and held him up.

Margo cleared her throat. "I should--I should get Julia."

"Yeah," Quentin agreed, voice muffled by the fact his face was buried in Eliot's shoulder. "Please."

She turned and ran off. Eliot buried his face in Quentin's hair. It was definitely Quentin--he smelled just like him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been a while but finally... an update - hope u enjoy!  
follow me on twitter @ queermight

Julia was equal parts relieved and angry. As soon as she saw Quentin she swept him up in a hug. When she pulled back, she smacked him in the arm. "_What_ did you do?" 

He smiled sheepishly. Smiling without a Shade admittedly felt different. Like something he had to think about. 

"Nothing," he lied breezily. "I--Hades," he ignored her confused look as he quickly continued, "he was thankful to me for saving him and all the other Old Gods."

Julia stared at him, like she was waiting for him to break and spill everything. Like she knew he was hiding something.

Maybe she did.

But maybe for once she just wanted to be _happy_ because she didn't say anything at first. Just squeezed his shoulders. "I'm so happy you're here, Q."

He ignored the stillness in his chest. Happy; would he ever feel that again?

"Me too," he breathed, hugging her closer. This would have to be enough.

*

Now for maybe the hardest part. After that, they all lounged in the living room and talked. Quentin was Shadeless, maybe, but not dumb--he could tell everyone was being careful around him. Protecting him, babying him.

He didn't even care. (Maybe that had something to do with his Shade missing, too.)

Finally though Julia said the words he didn't want to hear: "I should see if I can contact Alice."

The whole room went quiet. Quentin's eyes flickered around from Margo's pinched expression to Eliot's perfectly blank one. His eyes finally settled on Julia, who smiled at him, a bit forced.

"Are you up for that, Q?"

He could vaguely remember Alice's screams from inside the Mirror Realm. He didn't feel even an ounce of regret. 

"Okay," he said. 

Julia stood up and walked out of the room; Quentin could hear her whispering on the phone, hushed but urgent.

"So," Margo said, breaking the silence with ease, "who wants a drink?"

Eliot laughed, a bit sharp and wet and off-kilter. "_Please_," he said.

Quentin just nodded, watching as Margo stood up and walked to the tiny kitchen in the apartment. Quentin didn't like the apartment; it felt too cold, impersonal. Or maybe that was just because of his Shade, too, but he remembered feeling that way before everything, too. 

With the girls out of the picture, Eliot cleared his throat and crossed then uncrossed his ankles. "Fuck, every position is painful," he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Quentin to hear.

Quentin felt--well, nothing. But he knew how he would feel, if it hadn't traded away such an integral part of him. He would be sad and worried and fucking brimming with guilt.  
"El," he whispered softly. Eliot's head snapped up, like he'd almost somehow forgotten Quentin was in the room with him. "I'm so sorry."

Eliot shook his head firmly. "Don't."

"El," he repeated. "I--I have so much I want to tell you, but. Later, okay?"

He just had other things he needed to attend to first.

"Right," Eliot said, a bit dully. 

Quentin pursed his lips. After a few minutes Julia reappeared, holding her phone. "She said she'd be here as soon as possible. She's--she's really not okay, Q."

He nodded just as Margo entered the room, holding three drinks. She glanced at Julia and sighed lightly--"one more coming up"--before placing them on the table and turning around to walk back to the kitchen.

*

Alice showed up about an hour later, looking ragged and so, so small. Quentin knew what he should be feeling: guilt, disappointment, sadness. He felt nothing.   
Everyone had left the apartment--first Julia then Margo and Eliot, presumably to give them time alone. Quentin appreciated the sentiment but honestly he kind of wish they weren't alone right now.

"Hi," he greeted quietly.

Alice closed the door behind her and for a few long minutes just stared at it, her back turned to Quentin. She didn't say anything.

"Alice, I'm--"

She turned on her heels, eyes wet with tears. "_Fuck_ you, Quentin."

Quentin swallowed around the lump in his throat; maybe he didn't feel anything anymore but weirdly his body still went through the usual physical responses, like the big, uncomfortable nervous lump in his throat.

"I'm sorry," he said. 

He _was_ sorry, even if he didn't _feel_ sorry.

"You--you could've survived, Quentin," Alice continued, stomping over to him with purpose in each of her steps. "You could've outran those lights and we both know it. You could've come with us."

He thought briefly of Alice, sobbing. Penny, pulling her away.

"I'm sorry," he repeated again. The truth was... "I was just so, _so_ tired."

Alice laughed, a bit hysterical. "And you think we weren't?" she replied harshly, eyes hardening. "I was tired. Julia was tired. Margo was tired. Fuck, even Penny." She took a shaky breath. "You weren't alone, Quentin, you just assumed you were. Like always."

He looked away, feeling unexpectedly exposed. He wondered briefly if Alice would see right through him and notice his Shade was gone. She didn't.

"You--just, you can't do that again, okay?" Alice continued after a few beats, softer.

Quentin turned his head back toward her. She looked so old and so young all at once; both like the girl he'd met a long time ago and not at all. "I'm sorry," he repeated again at a loss for words.

Alice laughed, wet and broken. Then she was reaching for him and--

Oh, fuck, he'd forgotten about--

Then she was pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. He felt nothing. Of course he felt nothing--he was Shadeless--but it was more than that. 

An image of Eliot from earlier flashed through his mind. He pulled away.

"Q?" she asked, opening her eyes, concern written clearly across her face. "I'm--I'm sorry," she continued before he could say anything. "You just--you just came back from literal death, I shouldn't be..."

Despite everything, no emotions, no Shade, Quentin could hear blood rushing in his ears.

"Alice, I don't--" he cut himself off, pursing his lips. "I don't think we should... do this."

She blinked at him. "Okay," she replied slowly. "I mean, I understand. We can wait."

Quentin smiled in a way he hoped was kind and soft and comforting. He couldn't really tell anymore. "No," he said gently. "Like. Ever."

Because Alice deserved better; she'd always deserved better. And now, she deserved not to be someone's second choice. A consolation prize, second best after Eliot. God, he was a terrible person.

"Quentin, I--I don't understand," she said, searching his face. "I know you've been through a lot, but... I thought you wanted to try again." She smiled, a bit forced, entirely hopeful. "Right?"

He couldn't look at her any longer. "I want you in my life," he said, mimicking the words from before. "But not like this."

It was silent. Finally, Quentin lifted his head to look at her. Alice, who was standing there with tear-streaked cheeks. 

"Then, what _do_ you want?" she asked quietly.

Quentin could only say the truth, "I want you to be my friend."

For a few long, tense seconds they just stared at each other. Alice looked away first. "Fuck you, Quentin," she repeated but the words were colder now, detached. "You--you think I'm just someone you can yank around? One day you want me, and the next you don't?"

He opened his mouth but really what he have to say? 

To be fair, he had been through a lot. He was hoping maybe, for once, he could catch a break. Obviously not. 

Alice turned away and started for the door. 

"I'm sorry," he said again. Alice didn't reply.

*

The first person to return was Julia, holding a bag of groceries. She, like always, seemed to immediately know something was wrong. She dropped the bag on the counter and walked over to join Quentin on the couch.

It was silent for a few minutes but it was a comfortable, familiar silence.

Quentin wished he could--_appreciate_ it more. He remembered the love he felt for Julia but remembering and feeling were two entirely different things.

"I'm assuming things didn't go well?" she prompted after a while.

Quentin leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. "That would be an understatement."

"I'm sorry, Q," she said, soft and sincere. "I know you really loved her."

But that was the thing, wasn't it? The kicker of it all. 

"I don't think I've loved her for a long, long time," he admitted into the quiet space between them. And now he could never love her or Eliot or anyone or anything. Fuck. "Not like that, at least."

Julia reached over and squeezed his leg. "Then... why did you ask her to try again?" she asked, not prodding, just wanting to understand. Like she wanted to understand everything; she was a true Knowledge student.

Too bad she never got the chance to just _be_ one. Life kept getting in the way.

"I felt alone," he admitted, thinking back. There was a silver living here, right? Maybe he'd never feel the good things again, sure, but he would also never feel the bad things. He almost wanted to laugh.

It was all so fucking ridiculous.

_You would always find your way back to sadness._

Maybe not--just at what cost?

"I wasn't there for you," Julia muttered. "Q, I'm so, so sorry. I--I should've been better."

He shook his head. "You had your own problems going on, Jules. I understand."

"Doesn't matter," she said, a bit sharply. "You were--you were going through so much, Q, and yet--and yet you kept trying to help me. And everyone else, too. But... none of us returned the favor."

Quentin wasn't angry or sad or bitter, though. He was... numb. Not the worst feeling in the world, he decided idly.

"We'll do better now. I'll do better now," Julia continued softly.

Quentin leaned his head on her shoulder, staring at nothing in particular. "Thanks, Jules."

She wrapped an arm around him and squeezed. "I love you, Q."

He didn't return the words. Julia didn't push.


End file.
